Chapter II: Front Matter (2)

Ees, last Whit-Monday, I an' Meäry
Got up betimes to mind the deäiry;
An' gi'ed the milkèn païls a scrub,
An' dress'd, an' went to zee the club.
Vor up at public-house, by ten
O'clock the pleäce wer vull o' men,
A-dress'd to goo to church, an' dine,
An' walk about the pleäce in line.
Zoo off they started, two an' two,
Wi' païnted poles an' knots o' blue,
An' girt silk flags,--I wish my box
'D a-got em all in ceäpes an' frocks,--
A-weävèn wide an' flappèn loud
In plaÿsome winds above the crowd;
While fifes did squeak an' drums did rumble,
An' deep beäzzoons did grunt an' grumble,
An' all the vo'k in gath'rèn crowds
Kick'd up the doust in smeechy clouds,
That slowly rose an' spread abrode
In streamèn aïr above the road.
An' then at church there wer sich lots
O' hats a-hangèn up wi' knots,
An' poles a-stood so thick as iver,
The rushes stood beside a river.
An' Mr Goodman gi'ed em warnèn
To spend their evenèn lik' their mornèn;
An' not to praÿ wi' mornèn tongues,
An' then to zwear wi' evenèn lungs:
Nor vu'st sheäke hands, to let the wrist
Lift up at last a bruisèn vist:
Vor clubs were all a-meän'd vor friends,
He twold em, an' vor better ends
Than twitèn vo'k an' pickèn quarrels,
An' tipplèn cups an' emptèn barrels,--
Vor meäkèn woone man do another
In need the kindness ov a brother.

An' after church they went to dine
'Ithin the long-wall'd room behine
The public-house, where you remember,
We had our dance back last December.
An' there they meäde sich stunnèn clatters
Wi' knives an' forks, an' pleätes an' platters;
An' waïters ran, an' beer did pass
Vrom tap to jug, vrom jug to glass:
An' when they took away the dishes,
They drink'd good healths, an' wish'd good wishes,
To all the girt vo'k o' the land,
An' all good things vo'k took in hand;
An' woone cried _hip, hip, hip!_ an' hollow'd,
An' tothers all struck in, an' vollow'd;
An' grabb'd their drink wi' eager clutches,
An' swigg'd it wi' sich hearty glutches,
As vo'k, stark mad wi' pweison stuff,
That thought theirzelves not mad enough.

An' after that they went all out
In rank ageän, an' walk'd about,
An' gi'ed zome parish vo'k a call;
An', then went down to Narley Hall
An' had zome beer, an' danc'd between
The elem trees upon the green.
An' down along the road they done
All sorts o' mad-cap things vor fun;
An' danc'd, a-pokèn out their poles,
An' pushèn bwoys down into holes:
An' Sammy Stubbs come out o' rank,
An' kiss'd me up ageän the bank,
A saucy chap; I ha'nt vor'gied en
Not yet,--in short, I han't a-zeed en.
Zoo in the dusk ov evenèn, zome
Went back to drink, an' zome went hwome.

WOODLEY.

Sweet Woodley! oh! how fresh an' gaÿ
Thy leänes an' vields be now in Maÿ,
The while the broad-leav'd clotes do zwim
In brooks wi' gil'cups at the brim;
An' yollow cowslip-beds do grow
By thorns in blooth so white as snow;
An' win' do come vrom copse wi' smells
O' grægles wi' their hangèn bells!

Though time do dreve me on, my mind
Do turn in love to thee behind,
The seäme's a bulrush that's a-shook
By wind a-blowèn up the brook:
The curlèn stream would dreve en down,
But plaÿsome aïr do turn en roun',
An' meäke en seem to bend wi' love
To zunny hollows up above.

Thy tower still do overlook
The woody knaps an' windèn brook,
An' leäne's wi' here an' there a hatch,
An' house wi' elem-sheäded thatch,
An' vields where chaps do vur outdo
The Zunday sky, wi' cwoats o' blue;
An' maïdens' frocks do vur surpass
The whitest deäsies in the grass.

What peals to-day from thy wold tow'r
Do strike upon the zummer flow'r,
As all the club, wi' dousty lags,
Do walk wi' poles an' flappèn flags,
An' wind, to music, roun' between
A zwarm o' vo'k upon the green!
Though time do dreve me on, my mind
Do turn wi' love to thee behind.

THE BROOK THAT RAN BY GRAMFER'S.

When snow-white clouds wer thin an' vew
Avore the zummer sky o' blue,
An' I'd noo ho but how to vind
Zome plaÿ to entertaïn my mind;
Along the water, as did wind
Wi' zedgy shoal an' hollow crook,
How I did ramble by the brook
That ran all down vrom gramfer's.

A-holdèn out my line beyond
The clote-leaves, wi' my withy wand,
How I did watch, wi' eager look,
My zwimmèn cork, a-zunk or shook
By minnows nibblèn at my hook,
A-thinkèn I should catch a breäce
O' perch, or at the leäst some deäce,
A-zwimmèn down vrom gramfer's.

Then ten good deäries wer a-ved
Along that water's windèn bed,
An' in the lewth o' hills an' wood
A half a score farm-housen stood:
But now,--count all o'm how you would,
So many less do hold the land,--
You'd vind but vive that still do stand,
A-comèn down vrom gramfer's.

There, in the midst ov all his land,
The squier's ten-tunn'd house did stand,
Where he did meäke the water clim'
A bank, an' sparkle under dim
Bridge arches, villèn to the brim
His pon', an' leäpèn, white as snow,
Vrom rocks a-glitt'rèn in a bow,
An' runnèn down to gramfer's.

An' now woone wing is all you'd vind
O' thik girt house a-left behind;
An' only woone wold stwonen tun
'S a-stannèn to the raïn an' zun,--
An' all's undone that he'd a-done;
The brook ha' now noo call to staÿ
To vill his pon' or clim' his baÿ,
A-runnèn down to gramfer's.

When woonce, in heavy raïn, the road
At Grenley bridge wer overflow'd,
Poor Sophy White, the pleäces pride,
A-gwaïn vrom market, went to ride
Her pony droo to tother zide;
But vound the strëam so deep an' strong,
That took her off the road along
The hollow down to gramfer's.

'Twer dark, an' she went on too vast
To catch hold any thing she pass'd;
Noo bough hung over to her hand,
An' she could reach noo stwone nor land,
Where woonce her little voot could stand;
Noo ears wer out to hear her cries,
Nor wer she woonce a-zeen by eyes,
Till took up dead at gramfer's.

SLEEP DID COME WI' THE DEW.

O when our zun's a-zinkèn low,
How soft's the light his feäce do drow
Upon the backward road our mind
Do turn an' zee a-left behind;
When we, in childhood's days did vind
Our jaÿ among the gil'cup flow'rs,
All drough the zummer's zunny hours;
An' sleep did come wi' the dew.

An' afterwards, when we did zweat
A tweilèn in the zummer het,
An' when our daily work wer done
Did meet to have our evenèn fun:
Till up above the zettèn zun
The sky wer blushèn in the west,
An' we laid down in peace to rest,
An' sleep did come wi' the dew.

Ah! zome do turn--but tidden right--
The night to day, an' day to night;
But we do zee the vu'st red streak
O' mornèn, when the day do break;
Zoo we don't grow up peäle an' weak,
But we do work wi' health an' strength,
Vrom mornèn drough the whole day's length,
An' sleep do come wi' the dew.

An' when, at last, our e'thly light
Is jist a-drawèn in to night,
We mid be sure that God above,
If we be true when he do prove
Our stedvast faïth an' thankvul love,
Wull do vor us what mid be best,
An' teäke us into endless rest,
As sleep do come wi' the dew.

SWEET MUSIC IN THE WIND.

When evenèn is a-drawèn in,
I'll steal vrom others' naïsy din;
An' where the whirlèn brook do roll
Below the walnut-tree, I'll stroll
An' think o' thee wi' all my soul,
Dear Jenny; while the sound o' bells
Do vlee along wi' mwoansome zwells,
Sweet music in the wind!

I'll think how in the rushy leäze
O' zunny evenèns jis' lik' theäse,
In happy times I us'd to zee
Thy comely sheäpe about the tree,
Wi' païl a-held avore thy knee;
An' lissen'd to thy merry zong
That at a distance come along,
Sweet music in the wind!

An' when wi' me you walk'd about
O' Zundays, after church wer out.
Wi' hangèn eärm an' modest look;
Or zittèn in some woody nook
We lissen'd to the leaves that shook
Upon the poplars straïght an' tall,
Or rottle o' the watervall,
Sweet music in the wind!

An' when the plaÿvul aïr do vlee,
O' moonlight nights, vrom tree to tree,
Or whirl upon the sheäkèn grass,
Or rottle at my window glass:
Do seem,--as I do hear it pass,--
As if thy vaïce did come to tell
Me where thy happy soul do dwell,
Sweet music in the wind!

UNCLE AN' AUNT.

How happy uncle us'd to be
O' zummer time, when aunt an' he
O' Zunday evenèns, eärm in eärm,
Did walk about their tiny farm,
While birds did zing an' gnats did zwarm,
Drough grass a'most above their knees,
An' roun' by hedges an' by trees
Wi' leafy boughs a-swaÿèn.

His hat wer broad, his cwoat wer brown,
Wi' two long flaps a-hangèn down;
An' vrom his knee went down a blue
Knit stockèn to his buckled shoe;
An' aunt did pull her gown-taïl drough
Her pocket-hole, to keep en neat,
As she mid walk, or teäke a seat
By leafy boughs a-zwaÿèn.

An' vu'st they'd goo to zee their lots
O' pot-eärbs in the geärden plots;
An' he, i'-may-be, by the hatch,
Would zee aunt's vowls upon a patch
O' zeeds, an' vow if he could catch
Em wi' his gun, they shoudden vlee
Noo mwore into their roostèn tree,
Wi' leafy boughs a-swaÿèn.

An' then vrom geärden they did pass
Drough orcha'd out to zee the grass,
An' if the apple-blooth, so white,
Mid be at all a-touch'd wi' blight;
An' uncle, happy at the zight,
Did guess what cider there mid be
In all the orcha'd, tree wi' tree,
Wi' tutties all a-swaÿèn.

An' then they stump'd along vrom there
A-vield, to zee the cows an' meäre;
An' she, when uncle come in zight,
Look'd up, an' prick'd her ears upright,
An' whicker'd out wi' all her might;
An' he, a-chucklèn, went to zee
The cows below the sheädy tree,
Wi' leafy boughs a-swaÿen.

An' last ov all, they went to know
How vast the grass in meäd did grow
An' then aunt zaid 'twer time to goo
In hwome,--a-holdèn up her shoe,
To show how wet he wer wi' dew.
An' zoo they toddled hwome to rest,
Lik' doves a-vleèn to their nest
In leafy boughs a-swaÿen.

HAVEN WOONES FORTUNE A-TWOLD.

In leäne the gipsies, as we went
A-milkèn, had a-pitch'd their tent,
Between the gravel-pit an' clump
O' trees, upon the little hump:
An' while upon the grassy groun'
Their smokèn vire did crack an' bleäze,
Their shaggy-cwoated hoss did greäze
Among the bushes vurder down.

An' zoo, when we brought back our païls,
The woman met us at the raïls,
An' zaid she'd tell us, if we'd show
Our han's, what we should like to know.
Zoo Poll zaid she'd a mind to try
Her skill a bit, if I would vu'st;
Though, to be sure, she didden trust
To gipsies any mwore than I.

Well; I agreed, an' off all dree
O's went behind an elem tree,
An' after she'd a-zeed 'ithin
My han' the wrinkles o' the skin,
She twold me--an' she must a-know'd
That Dicky met me in the leäne,--
That I'd a-walk'd, an' should ageän,
Wi' zomebody along thik road.

An' then she twold me to bewar
O' what the letter _M_ stood vor.
An' as I walk'd, o' _M_onday night,
Drough _M_eäd wi' Dicky overright
The _M_ill, the _M_iller, at the stile,
Did stan' an' watch us teäke our stroll,
An' then, a blabbèn dousty-poll!
Twold _M_other o't. Well wo'th his while!

An' Poll too wer a-bid bewar
O' what the letter _F_ stood vor;
An' then, because she took, at _F_eäir,
A bosom-pin o' Jimmy Heäre,
Young _F_ranky beät en black an' blue.
'Tis _F_ vor _F_eäir; an' 'twer about
A _F_earèn _F_rank an' Jimmy foüght,
Zoo I do think she twold us true.

In short, she twold us all about
What had a-vell, or would vall out;
An' whether we should spend our lives
As maïdens, or as wedded wives;
But when we went to bundle on,
The gipsies' dog were at the raïls
A-lappèn milk vrom ouer païls,--
A pretty deäl o' Poll's wer gone.

JEANE'S WEDDEN DAY IN MORNEN.

At last Jeäne come down stairs, a-drest
Wi' weddèn knots upon her breast,
A-blushèn, while a tear did lie
Upon her burnèn cheäk half dry;
An' then her Robert, drawèn nigh
Wi' tothers, took her han' wi' pride,
To meäke her at the church his bride,
Her weddèn day in mornèn.

Wi' litty voot an' beätèn heart
She stepp'd up in the new light cart,
An' took her bridemaïd up to ride
Along wi' Robert at her zide:
An' uncle's meäre look'd roun' wi' pride
To zee that, if the cart wer vull,
'Twer Jenny that he had to pull,
Her weddèn day in mornèn.

An' aunt an' uncle stood stock-still,
An' watch'd em trottèn down the hill;
An' when they turn'd off out o' groun'
Down into leäne, two tears run down
Aunt's feäce; an' uncle, turnèn roun',
Sigh'd woonce, an' stump'd off wi' his stick,
Because did touch en to the quick
To peärt wi' Jeäne thik mornèn.

"Now Jeäne's agone," Tom mutter'd, "we
Shall mwope lik' owls 'ithin a tree;
Vor she did zet us all agog
Vor fun, avore the burnèn log."
An' as he zot an' talk'd, the dog
Put up his nose athirt his thighs,
But coulden meäke en turn his eyes,
Jeäne's weddèn day in mornèn.

An' then the naïghbours round us, all
By woones an' twos begun to call,
To meet the young vo'k, when the meäre
Mid bring em back a married peäir:
An' all o'm zaid, to Robert's sheäre,
There had a-vell the feärest feäce,
An' kindest heart in all the pleäce,
Jeäne's weddèn day in mornèn.

RIVERS DON'T GI'E OUT.

The brook I left below the rank
Ov alders that do sheäde his bank,
A-runnèn down to dreve the mill
Below the knap, 's a runnèn still;
The creepèn days an' weeks do vill
Up years, an' meäke wold things o' new,
An' vok' do come, an' live, an' goo,
But rivers don't gi'e out, John.

The leaves that in the spring do shoot
Zo green, in fall be under voot;
Maÿ flow'rs do grow vor June to burn,
An' milk-white blooth o' trees do kern,
An' ripen on, an' vall in turn;
The miller's moss-green wheel mid rot,
An' he mid die an' be vorgot,
But rivers don't gi'e out, John.

A vew short years do bring an' rear
A maïd--as Jeäne wer--young an' feäir,
An' vewer zummer-ribbons, tied
In Zunday knots, do feäde bezide
Her cheäk avore her bloom ha' died:
Her youth won't staÿ,--her rwosy look
'S a feädèn flow'r, but time's a brook
To run an' not gi'e out, John.

An' yet, while things do come an' goo,
God's love is steadvast, John, an' true;
If winter vrost do chill the ground,
'Tis but to bring the zummer round,
All's well a-lost where He's a-vound,
Vor if 'tis right, vor Christes seäke
He'll gi'e us mwore than he do teäke,--
His goodness don't gi'e out, John.

MEAKEN UP A MIFF.

Vorgi'e me, Jenny, do! an' rise
Thy hangèn head an' teary eyes,
An' speak, vor I've a-took in lies,
An' I've a-done thee wrong;
But I wer twold,--an' thought 'twer true,--
That Sammy down at Coome an' you
Wer at the feäir, a-walkèn drough
The pleäce the whole day long.

An' tender thoughts did melt my heart,
An' zwells o' viry pride did dart
Lik' lightnèn drough my blood; a-peärt
Ov your love I should scorn,
An' zoo I vow'd, however sweet
Your looks mid be when we did meet,
I'd trample ye down under veet,
Or let ye goo forlorn.

But still thy neäme would always be
The sweetest, an' my eyes would zee
Among all maïdens nwone lik' thee
Vor ever any mwore;
Zoo by the walks that we've a-took
By flow'ry hedge an' zedgy brook,
Dear Jenny, dry your eyes, an' look
As you've a-look'd avore.

Look up, an' let the evenèn light
But sparkle in thy eyes so bright,
As they be open to the light
O' zunzet in the west;
An' let's stroll here vor half an hour,
Where hangèn boughs do meäke a bow'r
Above theäse bank, wi' eltrot flow'r
An' robinhoods a-drest.

HAY-MEAKEN.

'Tis merry ov a zummer's day,
Where vo'k be out a-meäkèn haÿ;
Where men an' women, in a string,
Do ted or turn the grass, an' zing,
Wi' cheemèn vaïces, merry zongs,
A-tossèn o' their sheenèn prongs
Wi' eärms a-zwangèn left an' right,
In colour'd gowns an' shirtsleeves white;
Or, wider spread, a reäkèn round
The rwosy hedges o' the ground,
Where Sam do zee the speckled sneäke,
An' try to kill en wi' his reäke;
An' Poll do jump about an' squall,
To zee the twistèn slooworm crawl.

'Tis merry where a gaÿ-tongued lot
Ov haÿ-meäkers be all a-squot,
On lightly-russlèn haÿ, a-spread
Below an elem's lofty head,
To rest their weary limbs an' munch
Their bit o' dinner, or their nunch;
Where teethy reäkes do lie all round
By picks a-stuck up into ground.
An' wi' their vittles in their laps,
An' in their hornen cups their draps
O' cider sweet, or frothy eäle,
Their tongues do run wi' joke an' teäle.

An' when the zun, so low an' red,
Do sheen above the leafy head
O' zome broad tree, a-rizèn high
Avore the vi'ry western sky,
'Tis merry where all han's do goo
Athirt the groun', by two an' two,
A-reäkèn, over humps an' hollors,
The russlèn grass up into rollers.
An' woone do row it into line,
An' woone do clwose it up behine;
An' after them the little bwoys
Do stride an' fling their eärms all woys,
Wi' busy picks, an' proud young looks
A-meäkèn up their tiny pooks.
An' zoo 'tis merry out among
The vo'k in haÿ-vield all day long.

HAY-CARREN.

'Tis merry ov a zummer's day,
When vo'k be out a-haulèn haÿ,
Where boughs, a-spread upon the ground,
Do meäke the staddle big an' round;
An' grass do stand in pook, or lie
In long-back'd weäles or parsels, dry.
There I do vind it stir my heart
To hear the frothèn hosses snort,
A-haulèn on, wi' sleek heäir'd hides,
The red-wheel'd waggon's deep-blue zides.
Aye; let me have woone cup o' drink,
An' hear the linky harness clink,
An' then my blood do run so warm,
An' put sich strangth 'ithin my eärm,
That I do long to toss a pick,
A-pitchèn or a-meäkèn rick.

The bwoy is at the hosse's head,
An' up upon the waggon bed
The lwoaders, strong o' eärm do stan',
At head, an' back at taïl, a man,
Wi' skill to build the lwoad upright
An' bind the vwolded corners tight;
An' at each zide [=o]'m, sprack an' strong,
A pitcher wi' his long-stem'd prong,
Avore the best two women now
A-call'd to reäky after plough.

When I do pitchy, 'tis my pride
Vor Jenny Hine to reäke my zide,
An' zee her fling her reäke, an' reach
So vur, an' teäke in sich a streech;
An' I don't shatter haÿ, an' meäke
Mwore work than needs vor Jenny's reäke.
I'd sooner zee the weäles' high rows
Lik' hedges up above my nose,
Than have light work myzelf, an' vind
Poor Jeäne a-beät an' left behind;
Vor she would sooner drop down dead.
Than let the pitchers get a-head.

'Tis merry at the rick to zee
How picks do wag, an' haÿ do vlee.
While woone's unlwoadèn, woone do teäke
The pitches in; an' zome do meäke
The lofty rick upright an' roun',
An' tread en hard, an' reäke en down,
An' tip en, when the zun do zet,
To shoot a sudden vall o' wet.
An' zoo 'tis merry any day
Where vo'k be out a-carrèn hay.

[Gothic: Eclogue.]

THE BEST MAN IN THE VIELD.

_Sam and Bob._

SAM.

That's slowish work, Bob. What'st a-been about?
Thy pookèn don't goo on not over sprack.
Why I've a-pook'd my weäle, lo'k zee, clear out,
An' here I be ageän a-turnèn back.

BOB.

I'll work wi' thee then, Sammy, any day,
At any work dost like to teäke me at,
Vor any money thou dost like to lay.
Now, Mister Sammy, what dost think o' that?
My weäle is nearly twice so big as thine,
Or else, I warnt, I shouldden be behin'.

SAM.

Ah! hang thee, Bob! don't tell sich whoppèn lies.
_My_ weäle's the biggest, if do come to size.
'Tis jist the seäme whatever bist about;
Why, when dost goo a-teddèn grass, you sloth,
Another hand's a-fwo'c'd to teäke thy zwath,
An' ted a half way back to help thee out;
An' then a-reäkèn rollers, bist so slack,
Dost keep the very bwoys an' women back.
An' if dost think that thou canst challenge I
At any thing,--then, Bob, we'll teäke a pick a-piece,
An' woonce theäse zummer, goo an' try
To meäke a rick a-piece.
A rick o' thine wull look a little funny,
When thou'st a-done en, I'll bet any money.

BOB.

You noggerhead! last year thou meäd'st a rick,
An' then we had to trig en wi' a stick.
An' what did John that tipp'd en zay? Why zaid
He stood a-top o'en all the while in dread,
A-thinkèn that avore he should a-done en
He'd tumble over slap wi' him upon en.

SAM.

You yoppèn dog! I warnt I meäde my rick
So well's thou meäd'st thy lwoad o' haÿ last week.
They hadden got a hundred yards to haul en,
An' then they vound 'twer best to have en boun',
Vor if they hadden, 'twould a-tumbl'd down;
An' after that I zeed en all but vallèn,
An' trigg'd en up wi' woone o'm's pitchèn pick,
To zee if I could meäke en ride to rick;
An' when they had the dumpy heap unboun',
He vell to pieces flat upon the groun'.

BOB.

Do shut thy lyèn chops! What dosten mind
Thy pitchèn to me out in Gully-plot,
A-meäkèn o' me waït (wast zoo behind)
A half an hour vor ev'ry pitch I got?
An' how didst groun' thy pick? an' how didst quirk
To get en up on end? Why hadst hard work
To rise a pitch that wer about so big
'S a goodish crow's nest, or a wold man's wig!
Why bist so weak, dost know, as any roller:
Zome o' the women vo'k will beät thee hollor.

SAM.

You snub-nos'd flopperchops! I pitch'd so quick,
That thou dost know thou hadst a hardish job
To teäke in all the pitches off my pick;
An' dissèn zee me groun' en, nother, Bob.
An' thou bist stronger, thou dost think, than I?
Girt bandy-lags! I jist should like to try.
We'll goo, if thou dost like, an' jist zee which
Can heave the mwost, or car the biggest nitch.

BOB.

There, Sam, do meäke me zick to hear thy braggèn!
Why bissen strong enough to car a flagon.

SAM.

You grinnèn fool! why I'd zet thee a-blowèn,
If thou wast wi' me vor a day a-mowèn.
I'd wear my cwoat, an' thou midst pull thy rags off,
An' then in half a zwath I'd mow thy lags off.

BOB.

Thee mow wi' me! Why coossen keep up wi' me:
Why bissèn fit to goo a-vield to skimmy,
Or mow down docks an' thistles! Why I'll bet
A shillèn, Samel, that thou cassen whet.

SAM.

Now don't thee zay much mwore than what'st a-zaid,
Or else I'll knock thee down, heels over head.

BOB.

Thou knock me down, indeed! Why cassen gi'e
A blow half hard enough to kill a bee.

SAM.

Well, thou shalt veel upon thy chops and snout.

BOB.

Come on, then, Samel; jist let's have woone bout.

WHERE WE DID KEEP OUR FLAGON.

When we in mornèn had a-drow'd
The grass or russlèn haÿ abrode,
The lit'some maïdens an' the chaps,
Wi' bits o' nunchèns in their laps,
Did all zit down upon the knaps
Up there, in under hedge, below
The highest elem o' the row,
Where we did keep our flagon.

There we could zee green vields at hand,
Avore a hunderd on beyand,
An' rows o' trees in hedges roun'
Green meäds, an' zummerleäzes brown,
An' thorns upon the zunny down,
While aïer, vrom the rockèn zedge
In brook, did come along the hedge,
Where we did keep our flagon.

There laughèn chaps did try in plaÿ
To bury maïdens up in haÿ,
As gigglèn maïdens tried to roll
The chaps down into zome deep hole,
Or sting wi' nettles woone o'm's poll;
While John did hele out each his drap
O' eäle or cider, in his lap
Where he did keep the flagon.

Woone day there spun a whirlwind by
Where Jenny's clothes wer out to dry;
An' off vled frocks, a'most a-catch'd
By smock-frocks wi' their sleeves outstratch'd,
An' caps a-frill'd an' eäperns patch'd;
An' she a-steärèn in a fright,
Wer glad enough to zee em light
Where we did keep our flagon.

An' when white clover wer a-sprung
Among the eegrass, green an' young,
An' elder-flowers wer a-spread
Among the rwosen white an' red,
An' honeyzucks wi' hangèn head,--
O' Zunday evenèns we did zit
To look all roun' the grounds a bit,
Where we'd a-kept our flagon.

WEEK'S END IN ZUMMER, IN THE WOLD VO'K'S TIME.

His aunt an' uncle,--ah! the kind
Wold souls be often in my mind:
A better couple never stood
In shoes, an' vew be voun' so good.
_She_ cheer'd the work-vo'k in theïr tweils
Wi' timely bits an' draps, an' smiles;
An' _he_ païd all o'm at week's end,
Their money down to goo an' spend.

In zummer, when week's end come roun'
The haÿ-meäkers did come vrom groun',
An' all zit down, wi' weary bwones,
Within the yard a-peäved wi' stwones,
Along avore the peäles, between
The yard a-steän'd an' open green.
There women zot wi' bare-neck'd chaps,
An' maïdens wi' their sleeves an' flaps
To screen vrom het their eärms an' polls.
An' men wi' beards so black as coals:
Girt stocky Jim, an' lanky John,
An' poor wold Betty dead an' gone;
An' cleän-grown Tom so spry an' strong,
An' Liz the best to pitch a zong,
That now ha' nearly half a score
O' childern zwarmèn at her door;
An' whindlen Ann, that cried wi' fear
To hear the thunder when 'twer near,--
A zickly maïd, so peäle's the moon,
That voun' her zun goo down at noon;
An' blushèn Jeäne so shy an' meek,
That seldom let us hear her speak,
That wer a-coorted an' undone
By Farmer Woodley's woldest son;
An' after she'd a-been vorzook,
Wer voun' a-drown'd in Longmeäd brook.

An' zoo, when _he_'d a-been all roun',
An' païd em all their wages down,
_She_ us'd to bring vor all, by teäle
A cup o' cider or ov eäle,
An' then a tutty meäde o' lots
O' blossoms vrom her flower-nots,
To wear in bands an' button-holes
At church, an' in their evenèn strolls.
The pea that rangled to the oves,
An' columbines an' pinks an' cloves,
Sweet rwosen vrom the prickly tree,
An' jilliflow'rs, an' jessamy;
An' short-liv'd pinies, that do shed
Their leaves upon a eärly bed.
She didden put in honeyzuck:
She'd nwone, she zaïd, that she could pluck
Avore wild honeyzucks, a-vound
In ev'ry hedge ov ev'ry ground.

Zoo maïd an' woman, bwoy an' man,
Went off, while zunzet aïr did fan
Their merry zunburnt feäzen; zome
Down leäne, an' zome drough parrocks hwome.

Ah! who can tell, that ha'nt a-vound,
The sweets o' week's-end comèn round!
When Zadurday do bring woone's mind
Sweet thoughts o' Zunday clwose behind;
The day that's all our own to spend
Wi' God an' wi' an e'thly friend.
The worold's girt vo'k, wi' the best
O' worldly goods mid be a-blest;
But Zunday is the poor man's peärt,
To seäve his soul an' cheer his heart.

THE MEAD A-MOW'D.

When sheädes do vall into ev'ry hollow,
An' reach vrom trees half athirt the groun';
An' banks an' walls be a-lookèn yollow,
That be a-turn'd to the zun gwaïn down;
Drough haÿ in cock, O,
We all do vlock, O,
Along our road vrom the meäd a-mow'd.

An' when the last swaÿèn lwoad's a-started
Up hill so slow to the lofty rick,
Then we so weary but merry-hearted,
Do shoulder each [=o]'s a reäke an' pick,
Wi' empty flagon,
Behind the waggon,
To teäke our road vrom the meäd a-mow'd.

When church is out, an' we all so slowly
About the knap be a-spreadèn wide,
How gaÿ the paths be where we do strolly
Along the leäne an' the hedge's zide;
But nwone's a voun', O,
Up hill or down, O,
So gaÿ's the road drough the meäd a-mow'd.

An' when the visher do come, a-drowèn
His flutt'ren line over bleädy zedge,
Drough groun's wi' red thissle-heads a-blowèn,
An' watchèn o't by the water's edge;
Then he do love, O,
The best to rove, O,
Along his road drough the meäd a-mow'd.

THE SKY A-CLEAREN.

The drevèn scud that overcast
The zummer sky is all a-past,
An' softer aïr, a-blowèn drough
The quiv'rèn boughs, do sheäke the vew
Last raïn drops off the leaves lik' dew;
An' peäviers, now a-gettèn dry,
Do steam below the zunny sky
That's now so vast a-cleärèn.

The sheädes that wer a-lost below
The stormy cloud, ageän do show
Their mockèn sheäpes below the light;
An' house-walls be a-lookèn white,
An' vo'k do stir woonce mwore in zight,
An' busy birds upon the wing
Do whiver roun' the boughs an' zing,
To zee the sky a-clearèn.

Below the hill's an ash; below
The ash, white elder-flow'rs do blow:
Below the elder is a bed
O' robinhoods o' blushèn red;
An' there, wi' nunches all a-spread,
The haÿ-meäkers, wi' each a cup
O' drink, do smile to zee hold up
The raïn, an' sky a-cleärèn.

'Mid blushèn maïdens, wi' their zong,
Still draw their white-stemm'd reäkes among
The long-back'd weäles an' new-meäde pooks,
By brown-stemm'd trees an' cloty brooks;
But have noo call to spweil their looks
By work, that God could never meäke
Their weaker han's to underteäke,
Though skies mid be a-cleärèn.

'Tis wrong vor women's han's to clips
The zull an' reap-hook, speädes an' whips;
An' men abroad, should leäve, by right,
Woone faïthful heart at hwome to light
Their bit o' vier up at night,
An' hang upon the hedge to dry
Their snow-white linen, when the sky
In winter is a-cleärèn.

THE EVENÈN STAR O' ZUMMER.

When vu'st along theäse road vrom mill,
I zeed ye hwome all up the hill,
The poplar tree, so straïght an' tall,
Did rustle by the watervall;
An' in the leäze the cows wer all
A-lyèn down to teäke their rest
An' slowly zunk towárd the west
The evenèn star o' zummer.

In parrock there the haÿ did lie
In weäle below the elems, dry;
An' up in hwome-groun' Jim, that know'd
We all should come along thik road,
D a-tied the grass in knots that drow'd
Poor Poll, a-watchèn in the West
Woone brighter star than all the rest,--
The evenèn star o' zummer.

The stars that still do zet an' rise,
Did sheen in our forefather's eyes;
They glitter'd to the vu'st men's zight,
The last will have em in their night;
But who can vind em half so bright
As I thought thik peäle star above
My smilèn Jeäne, my zweet vu'st love,
The evenèn star o' zummer.

How sweet's the mornèn fresh an' new,
Wi' sparklèn brooks an' glitt'rèn dew;
How sweet's the noon wi' sheädes a-drow'd
Upon the groun' but leätely mow'd,
An' bloomèn flowers all abrode;
But sweeter still, as I do clim',
Theäse woody hill in evenèn dim
'S the evenèn star o' zummer.

THE CLOTE.

_(Water-lily.)_

O zummer clote! when the brook's a-glidèn
So slow an' smooth down his zedgy bed,
Upon thy broad leaves so seäfe a-ridèn
The water's top wi' thy yollow head,
By alder's heads, O,
An' bulrush beds, O.
Thou then dost float, goolden zummer clote!

The grey-bough'd withy's a-leänèn lowly
Above the water thy leaves do hide;
The bendèn bulrush, a-swaÿèn slowly,
Do skirt in zummer thy river's zide;
An' perch in shoals, O,
Do vill the holes, O,
Where thou dost float, goolden zummer clote!

Oh! when thy brook-drinkèn flow'r's a-blowèn,
The burnèn zummer's a-zettèn in;
The time o' greenness, the time o' mowèn,
When in the haÿ-vield, wi' zunburnt skin,
The vo'k do drink, O,
Upon the brink, O,
Where thou dost float, goolden zummer clote!

Wi' eärms a-spreadèn, an' cheäks a-blowèn,
How proud wer I when I vu'st could zwim
Athirt the pleäce where thou bist a-growèn,
Wi' thy long more vrom the bottom dim;
While cows, knee-high, O,
In brook, wer nigh, O,
Where thou dost float, goolden zummer clote!

Ov all the brooks drough the meäds a-windèn,
Ov all the meäds by a river's brim,
There's nwone so feäir o' my own heart's vindèn,
As where the maïdens do zee thee swim,
An' stan' to teäke, O,
Wi' long-stemm'd reäke, O,
Thy flow'r afloat, goolden zummer clote!